


Diplomatic Gifts

by Trismegistus (Lebateleur)



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Alien Culture, Gen, Humor, Innuendo, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 11:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebateleur/pseuds/Trismegistus
Summary: When the Elflands open diplomatic relations with the tribes of Evrassai Steppes the consequences are not quite what anyone might have expected.





	Diplomatic Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beshelarwantsahug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beshelarwantsahug/gifts).



“It is certainly...not what we expected,” Maia said at last. 

Csevet inclined his head slightly. “Serenity.” His secretary's voice was remarkably even. Whatever Csevet's private thoughts on the matter, his tone betrayed none of them, and Maia was once more grateful for his composure. Upon entering the room, Beshelar had unleashed a torrent of silent disapproval thick enough to suffocate in, and Maia did not think he could have maintained any semblance of composure without Csevet's steady equilibrium upon which to lean.

He tried again. “We don't recall having seen anything like it in our galleries.” The Alcethmeret contained a truly staggering collection of fine art, amassed over centuries by Maia's forebears and the dynasties that had proceeded them, and Maia had not come close to viewing even a tenth of the collections that he, as Emperor of the Elflands, was now entitled to enjoy.

“Oh, yes, Serenity. We are quite sure there is nothing else like it in the Ethuveraz,” said Csevet earnestly, and then colored immediately. Still, he held his ears steady, even as behind them Beshelar choked upon a fresh wave of indignation. 

Maia found he could not match Csevet's composure, although he did manage to turn the abashed twitch of his own ears into a tilt of polite interest that should not offend the Nazh emissary who stood to his side, closely observing his reaction. The emissary smiled, sharp teeth disconcerting, and made the odd little gesture with his hands that Maia had come to learn over the past days was an invitation to approach or partake more closely. 

Lacking any other option that he felt would fail to cause offense, he did. 

Up close, the effect was even more arresting, and he found himself empathizing with Beshelar's reaction rather more than usual. It was hard not to, upon being suddenly confronted with a tapestry depicting oneself, woven to heroic dimensions, and whose weaver was uninterested in depicting anything that could be described as clothing. And then finding, upon closer inspection, that this was in fact the tapestry's least arresting aspect. At least, he thought, slightly lightheaded with the effect of it all, the patterns that twined and...entwined... throughout the tapestry's background should serve to draw most viewers' attention away from its depiction of _him._

“The natural philosophers who study the Nazhmorathverin have traditionally referred to them as motifs of 'increase,'” Cala supplied. Noticing Maia's attention, he had drawn close to examine the figures himself. Cala had read every account of the Nazhmorathverin he could acquire since Maia first advanced the possibility of establishing formal diplomatic contact between their two peoples, and was now perhaps the Elflands' foremost expert on Nazhmorathverin history and culture. “We understand it is a highly complimentary gesture to wish such—“ he politely cleared his throat “—fecundity upon anyone, to say nothing of a former enemy.” 

Maia nodded slowly. Please tell the Nazhmorathverin ambassador that we are most appreciative of his gesture. He kept his eyes resolutely upon the emissary's face as beside him, Captain Orthema relayed Maia's message in low tones. A few moments of confused back-and-forth followed; decades of conflict had not been conducive to building a corps of civil servants with any facility in the many dialects of the Evrassai Steppes, and though some had developed the necessary fluency, veterans on either side of the bitter war were rarely eager to apply those skills toward peace; it would, Maia thought, have been unfair to expect them to. That left Captain Orthema and those few other members of the guard who both trusted Maia and his efforts, and although the may not have been best suited on the basis of fluency alone, they had stepped bravely into the breach.

Finally, the emissary smiled broadly, and Maia supposed Orthema had found a way to convey his point. He inclined his head politely, and smiled himself, and then Csevet was at the emissary's side, to take him gently by the elbow and lead him from the room, speaking to him all the while diplomatic pleasantries in standard Elvish that the man could not possibly understand. 

The door closed behind them, and Maia let his ears droop. “When we mentioned our interest in Evrassain tapestry, we did not imagine this,”

“No, Serenity,” said Cala, eyes twinkling. “We don't imagine it was.”

He tried again. “What does protocol demand we do with it?”

“We can hardly display it in the galleries!” Beshalar burst out, his control having departed along with the emissary. “Serenity, it is— It is... _prurient._ ”

“And yet,” said Maia, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “We agreed to display it publicly to our subjects, as a symbol of reconciliation between our peoples. We have already prepared to open the eastern wing of the gallery to the public.” The Alcethmeret had spent weeks in preparation, assembling and displaying its collection of Nazhmorathverin artefacts. “We announced its existence to the _papers._ If we were to back away from our pledge now—“ The showing had been the talk of the city for weeks; by all indications, there was no shortage of people eager to view barbarian art.

They stood for a time, each taking pains to look anywhere but at the tapestry.

“Perhaps,” said Csevet, breaking the dismayed silence. They turned as one to regard him as he slipped back through the door, having handed the emissary off to another minder. “Perhaps we may yet avoid it, although the means would not be entirely proper.”

Maia gave him a look of sheer, plaintive hope. Seeing it, Csevet continued. “We don't imagine any of your Serenity's subjects are in any way familiar with the Alcethmeret's holdings of Evrassaian art. And the emissary himself would probably enjoy another day of hawking over the opening reception.”

Beshelar snorted, which Maia thought unfair; after all, it was clear which of the two activities Beshelar himself preferred.

“And if the emissary himself will not attend, perhaps, Serenity, another tapestry might be substituted for this gift, and none would be the wiser.”

“Yes,” said Maia slowly, rolling the thought around in his mind. “After all, it is an incredibly valuable work—the only one of its kind in the Ethuveraz, in fact.”

“Surely the affront of not displaying it publicly is outweighed by the responsibility to preserve it for posterity,” Csevet continued, a smile playing in his eyes as they met Maia's.

“And in keeping it safe,” said Maia, now fighting to maintain a straight face himself, “the many heirs we understand it encourages me to sire will best be able to enjoy it.”

“Well,” said Beshelar, “that's the first piece of sense to have come of this situation.” He strode to the tapestry and had it off its hangings and rolled before Maia could make sense of what his eyes were seeing.

The lieutenant turned to face them, a look of disbelief on his features. “Cala,” he barked. “Help us carry this from the hall before anyone else chances upon it. We know a place in the old barracks--” Cala blinked, apparently as shocked by Beshelar's actions as Maia, and then hurried to assist. A moment later, Maia and Csevet joined them.

**Author's Note:**

> For Beshalarwants a hug, who asked for an image of the royal portrait gallery with some unorthodox additions. I hope you enjoy reading this piece of fluff as much as I did writing it!


End file.
